Though Aten should have been doing what the other stallion did, keep his senses trained on what's around them just in case some form of danger appeared from the trees, the stallion's instincts were not picking up on anything, which was the only reason he was focused on the mare.
Apparently, this didn't have the desired effect of her trusting him as much as the other stallion, as Aten would find out. The mare, seeming to get some of her strength back, started to uncurl her legs, showing that she was going to make an effort to stand. Aten stepped back to give her the room she needed, yet remained in reach in case she needed help.
The mare's legs were fumbling under her body much like a newborn foal's, but Aten did not gaze at her with pity. Instead, he watched with hope, silently encouraging her as a friend, knowing that she had the strength in her to get up. It took some time, but she managed to get to her hooves, telling the other stallion that she could stand in two simple words.
Aten's eyes drifted to the mare's wings, his eyes easily spotting that one of them was wounded now that she was off the ground. He wanted to help if he could, but with gifts like these, he was out of his element. He had one of his own, but it did not involve a physical characteristic, so, in this case, Aten was willing to admit a defeat of sorts.
He was not able to help this mare, but he would hope for the best for her endeavors, whether or not he saw her again in the future.
The golden king's eyes shifted to the other stallion, "You seem to know more about how to handle this. I entrust my faith that you will give her the help she needs."
He then looked at the mare, "I hope you do well in your recovery."
With a smile and nod to both, Aten turned and began his journey away from the duo, knowing that right now, he was no longer needed.
what is left when honor is lost?
Pteron does not consider that the lack of watchfulness from his newfound companions a flaw. They are all herd animals, after all; there is no need for each of them to stand as individual guard. He has taken up the mantle for this moment, knowing that the winged mare is struggling and the older stallion is focused on her well-being rather than their surrounding. If he were to even give it thought, he’d have considered it a sign of trust between the trio, that he is trusted to watch the shadows for danger.
He does not fully tear his attention from his newfound responsibility, but the dun tobiano does watch Vastra’s struggle to stand with a single olive eye. She looks stiff, but does not seems broken. Pteron’s brow does fold with pity, but Vastra does not meet his gaze, and it might be for the best if she looked to Aten instead, who is appears more experienced in these matters of brokeness than Pteron. The young stallion has shattered his share – and perhaps more than that – of his own bones, but the knitting back together of them would take no longer than the time it takes Vastra to stand.
When she does stand, Pteron finally turns toward her with his full attention. The dusty mare still looks uncomfortable, but her legs seem to bear her weight. Pteron nods, satisfied that standing is half the battle. The rest will be finding a healer. Aten speaks again and Pteron’s olive eyes flic kto him. He is entrusting the care of this stranger to Pteron, and the pegasus gives the older stallion a nod of acknowledgment and a smile. He is not entirely sure that he knows how to handle this, but the steps themselves seem straightforward and he has a little pride.
“I will.” He tells Aten before looking back to Vastra when the champagne stallion wishes her well in her recovery.
Since she has asked where a healer was, Pteron has been racking his brain. There are some in Loess, still captive, but Pteron is inherently distrustful of their intent. They might heal, but who knows what else they might do. When Loess had begun to gather the healers during the Plague, Pteron had been but a child. He is not sure where they’d all come from, but he knows that Silver Cove was one of the places. Perhaps they’d returned there? He nods decisively, having made the internal decision, and then to the north.
“There should be one in Silver Cove,” he says, sounding far more certain than he truly is. “But the journey on foot is not easy. Would you prefer to trek through the Hyaline Mountains or the Pangean Wasteland?” Even as he asks, the pegasus realizes that perhaps an empty barren desert might not be the best choice.
@[Vastra]
I never knew daylight could be so violentTheir party is diminishing by one. They’ve been kind strangers, but strangers all the same, so the mare can’t honestly say that she’s upset but she has appreciated the kind greeting she has received. She knows things could have been much worse for her.
“Thank you.” She manages to get out, hoping that Aten hears her before he leaves. She’s not really understand why she feels grateful - she supposes that she shouldn’t. Neither of them have really helped her at all - they’ve just been witnesses to her weakness. Something inside of her insists that she should hate them for that simple fact. It’s an instinct from another life. It’s the same voice that’s whispering to her that these are not friends, they are prey.
Fortunately, the pain in her wing and all over her body makes it easy to ignore this voice - she does not like what it is saying to her.
Maybe there’s more she should have said, but perhaps her path will cross with Aten in the future.
She’d like to show him that she’s more than this weak, dependent creature that he met today.
Or, didn’t meet… since she can’t remember her own damn name.
Her thoughts are growing stormier by the second and it’s not helped when the winged stallion speaks in Aten’s absence. She snorts in a burst of bitter humour when he presents their options for getting to this Silver Cove, where there might be a healer. Her dark eyes stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’ll figure out what is wrong with the options he has provided on his own, but after a short pause she asks what’s on her mind, glancing down at the wing hanging to her side. “Better to drag through desert or over mountains?”
She’s frustrated that they can’t just fly there because of her and maybe there’s a sharper edge to her voice than she really intends. It seems like a valid question to her, though, as both options seem utterly bleak and daunting. Since she doesn’t know this land she’s relying on him heavily to know what the best course to take would be.
She’s relying on him for a lot, really, and maybe she should take care to speak a little kinder to him. Eventually, she suspects, the goodwill may run out and she'll have to hunt for a healer on her own.
VASTRA
kastiel x nazaire, wanderer |
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
Pteron has not been bound to the earth in years. An airborne trek across Pangea is no longer than one taken through the winding peaks of Hyaline, and he is genuinely puzzled by the long stare and the bitter laugh. He has begun to frown and nearly asks, but then she points down to her broken wing and realization rushes through him. It is not a comfortable feeling and Pteron glances away, additionally berated by the smallest edge of frustration in her voice. The answer to his question seems obvious, and when he raises his head again to is to gesture to the far northeast.
The path they’ll take is that way, he says without words. Having only flown over that part of Beqanna, Pteron is not at all familiar with the footpaths. He supposes they’ll just get going in a general northern direction, and if they feel they’re wandering off route he can always take to the sky and check their location. He continues to plan the journey in his head. After they leave the Riverlands, they’ll move along the border between the Meadow and the Field. It is an ambiguous sort of line, but one that Pteron has not seen a horse mistake. The Feild has one purpose only, so he plans to keep a little farther north than necessary, lest they find a sylvan searching for a meal or an eager herd stallion that might find the soft yellow mare appealing.
Reminded of her suddenly, the blue-marked stallion realizes he’s been quiet for just long enough to feel a prickle of social discomfort. He blinks, reminds himself of happiness and meet’s Vastra’s gaze squarely.
“You need to keep that elevated,” he says of the mare’s broken wing. Pteron does not know why elevation is important, but it is something he recalls his mother having said once. She’d had a wing broken herself, Pteron remembers.
“Can you hold it up?” The young stallion asks, “If you can’t, you can rest it on me. I think I’m enough taller that it’ll be above your heart.” He’ll have to walk quite carefully if she takes him up on the offer, the tri-colored stallion realizes. Keeping the break elevated above her heart is yet another bit of healing advice that he remembers without understanding, as is the suggestion that they go to find some water before they being their trek across the wastelands.
“There’s a creek over there. Let’s get a drink and then head west. There’s enough of a moon to guide us.” Better not to rest, he thinks. He’d rather traverse the baking plains in the moonlight than beneath the scorching sun, and they should be well clear of Pangea by the time the sun is at its peak.
@[Vastra]
I never knew daylight could be so violentShe waits, but not patiently, for the silence to pass between them. Her gaze had followed his gesture to the far northeast and bright blue eyes lingered there. Was she supposed to know which of the options that was? He had just mentions mountains or a wasteland, and something about a cove. The location of these things was lost on her – she didn’t know anything beyond the trees they were surrounded with. If he was looking for understanding, he wouldn’t find it in her.
Her frustration is building and she wonders, briefly, whether she would have more success in finding a healer on her own.
But she knows she won’t – she won’t for all of the reasons she is frustrated. She doesn’t know where anything is, she doesn’t know how to even begin to find a healer aside from asking every single horse she meets whether or not they are one.
His voice pulls her out of her thoughts and she shifts her attention back at him, eyes bright and burning with her hatred for this situation she’s found herself in. Her ears flatten against her head at his words, though she attempts to remind herself that he’s right. He doesn’t seem to be malicious and could have just as easily left the same way Aten did. She hasn’t, and probably won’t, make it easy to help her.
She glances down at her broken wing and frowns at it, as though that will mend it. She shifts it slightly and stifles a scream in pain. The alternative is letting him help and she’s already faced so many shots to her pride today, she’s not sure she can take another one.
Taking a few deep breaths, the dusty-coloured mare folds her wing up as best as she can – but this time, she actually does shout in pain as she does so. The limb trembles, and it’s almost enough pain and effort just to hold it in that one spot that she’s afraid she’s going to faint, but her stubbornness proves useful and she stays upright. Ignoring the way her legs shake just a little, she meets his eyes again and nods.
“Let’s go.” And she gestures for him to lead the way, but before she can take a step she pauses and her gaze softens. Her voice is still rough, but there’s a noticeable lack of edge to it when she whispers into the night air. “Thank you. For helping... when you don't have to.” He didn't owe her anything after all, they were strangers.
VASTRA
kastiel x nazaire, wanderer |
@[Pteron]
what is left when honor is lost?
It has taken him this long to put the two together, but Pteron realizes what Vastra reminds him of as she frowns at him and swallows a scream. She is like the pampas cat he had found as a child, though its leg was broken rather than a wing. It had hissed ferociously, baring its sharp needle teeth to warn him away. He’d been unable to communicate his good intentions to the creature and had ended up leaving it be. Day later, though, he’d found a bloody-beaked falcon standing over a familiar grey-brown body. He hadn’t been able to save the cat.
The memory and realization make him all the more determined to save this golden mare.
If the worst he gets out of it are a few sharp words that will still be better than not trying. The pampas cat had sharp claws too.
The sharp scream of pain causes him to wince in sympathy, startled enough that he does not have time to hide it. She does not seem the sort to want witnesses to her weakness. So rather than ask if she is really ready, he nods his head to her gesture for him to being to lead the way. Pteron nearly takes a step before he realizes she means to speak again, and he pauses with flicked forward ears. Is this when she means to send him away with a hiss, he wonders, as sure that she can handle herself as the pampas cat had been?
But no, she thanks him instead, and the protests about her needing help die on the back of his tongue.
“Of course,” he replies, “I wasn’t raised to leave a...anyone behind, even a stranger.” He almost says something along the lines of ‘a pretty face’, but does remember himself in time. His ability to read a conversation is far from fully developed, but he does have at least a small amount of sense. The mare has said less than a handful of words since their meeting, and Pteron wonders if perhaps a healer can also fix whatever is causing that. He supposes it is possible that Vastra is just the quiet and awkward type, but surely a healer will be able to fix it if she is not.
“We should make it to Silver Cove by noon, I think. Let know know if you need a break.”
And he steps forward to lead the way along the moonlight path.
@[Vastra]
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